


You're Every Word, You're Everything

by pleaseletmetouchyourbutt



Series: It's You, It's You (Kat's Hinny Fics.) [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: EXTREME FLUFF AHEAD, F/M, WARNING: EXCESSIVE SHMOOP, like every scene she's in she's crying, molly cries a lot in this, pregnant!ginny, tbh i cried while i was writing this, vomit tw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 13:20:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3291797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pleaseletmetouchyourbutt/pseuds/pleaseletmetouchyourbutt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ginny finds out she's pregnant on a bitterly cold day at the beginning of December.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're Every Word, You're Everything

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I got the title of this from a Michael Buble song.
> 
> I just wanted some happy Hinny fluff, okay?

Ginny finds out she’s pregnant on a bitterly cold day at the beginning of December. She’s got an all day practice with the Harpies, and is lounging on a bench with her boots in the snow, waiting for practice to start.

 

It’s then that she feels the roiling in her stomach. She must make some kind of noise because Annie, one of the Beaters, turns to look at her, eyebrows curling.

 

“You okay, Ginger?” She asks, “You’re looking a little green.”

 

Suddenly Ginny feels like she’s 8 years old again with the flu, crying as her mother holds her hair. She’s off the bench in an instant, tearing across the snow and into the heated changing rooms. The temperature change does nothing to help her stomach, and she crashes into one of the bathroom stalls. She doesn’t even close the door, just keels over the toilet and vomits.

 

Ginny doesn’t know how long she’s in there, only that it feels like she’s going to eject all of her innards from her body and possibly die. That’s a headline Rita Skeeter would be proud of: “Star Quidditch Player and War Veteran Dies From Excessive Vomiting.”

 

When she thinks it’s done she moves back, and the toilet flushes on its own. She flops onto the floor, back against the half-open stall door as she wipes a gloved hand over her mouth.

 

“You got the flu, Potter?” Gwenog says, appearing at the stall opening. She looks oddly smug, and all-knowing but then again, Gwenog always looks like that.

 

“I must have,” Ginny says, shakily pushes to her feet, “Or maybe food poisoning. Harry and I went out for dinner last night.”

 

“You sure?” Gwenog says, grips Ginny by the arm and leads her to the row of sinks.

 

Ginny catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror and flinches. She’s pale and greenish, her hair looking fire-red in comparison. She rinses the sick off of her glove before she peels them off and splashes water on her face.

 

“What do you mean, am I sure?” Ginny snaps, irritable.

 

“You sure it’s just the flu?” Gwenog repeats, leaning against the counter beside her.

 

It clicks in Ginny’s head as she’s rubbing her face dry with the corner of her robe. She stops, head snapping up.

 

“No,” She says sharply, “I’m not-” She pauses, head shaking. Her jaw sets and she pushes roughly away from the sink, “I’m not.”

 

“Hm,” Gwenog says, eyebrows arched up, “Get that checked, Potter.” Gwenog pushes away from the sink, roughly patting Ginny on the shoulder, “Go home.”

 

“I’m fine!” Ginny protests, trying to follow.

 

Gwenog stops and turns, mouth a thin line, “I won’t have a vomiting Chaser on my field, Potter. Go home.”

 

There’s a beat of silence, then Ginny sighs, hands going through her hair, “Yeah, okay.”

 

She watches Gwenog leave, sweeping out into the cold. There’s something holding her back from going straight home. She knows that Harry will be there, as it’s a Sunday and he has the day off. She also knows that if there’s a chance she _is_ … then she should talk to him first. She _knows_ that, but just the thought of it has her palms sweating. She needs to talk to Hermione.

 

She changes quickly, bundling herself up and swinging her rucksack over her back. She decides to Apparate to Hermione and Ron’s without really thinking about it, twisting on the spot.

 

She appears just inside Ron and Hermione’s building, at the very edge of the lobby. Unfortunately, she didn’t think of the effects Apparating would have on her newly sensitive stomach. She gags heavily, hand clapping over her mouth as she turns to face the wall behind her.

 

“Are you alright, ma’am?” Someone asks, and she turns, glaring. It’s the Muggle doorman, looking very concerned.

 

“Yes, I’m just not feeling very well,” Ginny says, sliding past him, “Thank you.” She scurries quickly to the stairs, nearly vaulting up them despite her protesting stomach.

 

Hermione and Ron live on the second floor of the building, in a spacious two-bedroom apartment. Ginny reaches the door just in time, can feel the sick rising in her throat again.

 

She bangs harshly on the door, “Hermione!”

 

There’s a second of muffled crashing and then Hermione swings open the door, hair twisted up onto her head and book in her hand.

 

“Ginny?” Hermione says as Ginny pushes past her into the apartment.

 

She all but runs through the sitting room to the bathroom, shouting, “I’m going to vomit! Hope you don’t mind!”

 

“I-” Hermione squawks as Ginny slams the door shut behind her. Ginny doesn’t spend as much time in the bathroom as she did in the change room, and emerges after rinsing her mouth and face.

 

Hermione has two cups of tea on the coffee table when Ginny opens the door, hands folded in her lap, “Are you pregnant?”

 

Ginny stops, everything in her sort of deflating, “I don’t know. Maybe?” She collapses on the couch beside Hermione, head dropping into her hands.

 

“Have you talked to Harry yet?” Hermione asks, staring at her over the rim of her mug.

 

“No,” Ginny says, shaking her head, “I came here first. I know I should be talking to him but I just don’t know for sure yet and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.” She scoops up her mug, takes a sip, and sighs. “I can’t keep playing Quidditch if I’m pregnant, and Harry’s coming up for a promotion in the Ministry soon-”

 

“Ginny.” Hermione says sharply, putting down her mug with a _click_ , “Do you want to have kids?”

 

“Well, yes,” She says, “But I’m only 23 Hermione, I don’t know if I’m ready for kids yet.”

 

“This is a conversation you should be having with Harry,” Hermione says, “Not me. But, if it’s any consolation, I think you’d be a great mother.”

 

“Really?” Ginny asks, hands tightening around her tea.

 

“Yes,” Hermione says, putting a hand on her knee, “Really.”

 

“I guess I should go back and talk to Harry,” She says, putting her mug down sharply, “I’m being such a child about this, aren’t I?”

 

“No, Ginny,” Hermione says, smiling, “You’re allowed to be scared.”

 

“Okay,” Ginny says, standing, “I’ll see you later.”

 

“Let me know how everything goes,” Hermione says, standing and hugging Ginny firmly.

 

“Of course,” Ginny says, scooping her rucksack up from where she threw it on the ground. She Disapparates just inside the front door, eyes squeezing sharply shut.

 

She appears with a loud crack in the middle of the kitchen, accidentally startling Harry into dropping two glasses onto the tile floor.

 

“Bloody hell!” Harry shouts, looking between the broken glasses and Ginny, “Why are you home so early?” He waves his wand at the glasses, piecing them back together and floating them into the cabinet.

 

“Nice to see you, too,” She says, mock-offended.

 

Harry laughs, crosses the kitchen to kiss her on the cheek, one hand on her back, “Sorry, sorry. I am _so elated_ that you’re home early. Merlin’s pants, I was _so lonely._ ”

 

“That’s better,” Ginny says, shrugs off her bag and puts it on the counter.

 

“Why _are_ you home so early, though?” He asks again, leaning against the counter.

 

Ginny pauses, not facing him, and takes a deep breath, “I think I’m pregnant.”

 

Harry doesn’t respond.

 

Ginny turns, expecting the worst based on the deafening silence, but is shocked to see Harry with a partially open mouth and the happiest eyes she has ever seen.

 

“I- um- I-” He huffs out a little laugh, a smile erupting onto his face, “Really?”

 

“I think so. I’m not sure yet but-” She’s cut off as he crosses the kitchen to hug her. His arms wind tight around her waist and he tucks her in under his chin. She circles her arms around his waist, too, lets herself be held for a moment.

 

“You’re okay with this?” She asks, voice muffled against his shirt.

 

“Absolutely,” Harry says, “Are you?”

 

Ginny pauses and pulls away to look at him. His smile nearly blinds her and something settles in her chest, “Absolutely.”

 

 

 

They go to the doctor the next day, and Ginny fidgets on the awkward paper sheet while the doctor leaves the room to check the results of her test. Harry is sitting on the chair beside her; holding her hand tightly and rubbing his thumb across her knuckles. She gives him a small smile, heart threatening to beat out of her chest and go soaring out of the window.

 

The doctor comes back after a moment, smiling widely, “Congratulations,” She says, “You’re due in August.”

 

Her mother cries when they tell her, and hugs them both so tightly Ginny’s sure that she now has permanent back damage. Hermione cries, too, and Ginny is sure that both she and her mother will be stocking them up with baby things for the entirety of the nine months.

 

 

 

Ginny is six months pregnant, irritable, and exhausted. She’s sitting cross-legged on the couch as Harry leafs through the real estate section of the newspaper. Ginny knows that they can’t very well keep living in her tiny Charing Cross apartment but she really doesn’t have the patience to look through house ads at the moment. She’s sucking on ice, trying to cool her balloon-esque body. It was a ridiculously hot May, and the air conditioner had broken at the end of April.

 

“What about this place?” Harry asks, pointing at a small white house in Westminster, “It’s close to Ron and Hermione.”

 

“Does it have a backyard?” Ginny asks.

 

There’s a pause.

 

“I’ll keep looking,” Harry says, flipping the page and scanning the next one.

 

Ginny knows she’s being finicky, but there’s no way she’s going to live in a house without a backyard. There’s no way their children are growing up without broomsticks and room to play.

 

“I’m not seeing anything, Gin,” Harry says, tosses the newspaper onto the table and flops back against the couch.

 

All of a sudden, Ginny feels like crying. She sets her cup of ice on the side table and presses the heels of her hands into her eyes, “What if we don’t find something?”

 

“We’ll find something,” Harry says, winding his arms around her and pulling her into his side, “I promise you, we’ll find something.” He spreads one hand across her belly, rubbing softly, “We’ll get a nice house with a big backyard and your mum’ll fill it with stuff she says we need and Hermione will demand we clean it more and it’ll be good.”

 

Ginny sniffles, presses her face in against his neck, “I love you.”

 

“I love you, too.”

 

 

 

They find a sweet little house just outside of London. It has a big, fenced-in backyard with a big oak tree. The shed is in disrepair but Ron and George fix it up as they move in their furniture. They fit a pretty yellow crib in the corner of a sunshiny room on the second floor. Then, Ginny paints a swatch of cream paint down Harry’s back and Hermione nearly faints from laughing so hard. Her mother cries when they leave, hugs Ginny tightly and says that she’s never felt happier.

 

“I told you,” Harry says, as they’re sitting on the couch in their new living room, “I told you.”

 

“Shut up,” Ginny snaps, shoves at his shoulder, “Smug git.”

 

There’s a beat of silence and then Harry says, “I like this place.”

 

Ginny smiles, rests her head on his shoulder, “Me too.”

 

 

 

On August 1st, 2005, Ginny gives birth to a squalling baby with her eyes and Harry’s mouth. She cries as she holds him against her chest, strokes her fingers over his smooth little head and kisses his wrinkly face.

 

Harry looks like he’s going to explode with happiness as he leans over her, one arm around her shoulders and the other gently touching their baby’s tiny fingers. Her mother and Hermione are crying softly, and Ron just sort of stands at the edge of the hospital bed, staring at them.

 

“Do you want to hold him, Ron?” Ginny says and Ron nods quickly, gently taking the baby from her arms and holding him against his chest.

 

“He looks like you,” Ron says softly, “He looks just like you, Ginny.”

 

Eventually, the room empties, and Ginny and Harry are left alone.

 

“I know we talked about a lot of different names,” Harry says, perched on the edge of the lumpy mattress.

 

“James,” Ginny says, and Harry looks at her, smiling, “James Sirius. It was never going to be anything else.”

 

Harry moves closer, sits with one arm wrapped tight around them, “I thought I was going to have to divide up my love for you and my love for him,” He says, “But it’s not like that. Now there’s just _extra_ love. I didn’t realize I had that much room.”

 

Ginny smiles, rests her head on his shoulder as James wrinkles his nose and lets out a big yawn, “Yeah. I know what you mean.”


End file.
